


“… but when I became a man …”

by nimrod262



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Birthday, Boy to Man, Corinthians, First Love, Funerals, Growing Up, If by Rudyard Kipling, M/M, Monterey, Nivanfield, Pre-Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield, Sexuality, Surfing, Teenage Piers, USMC, creed for manhood, poem, redfieldandnivans, some strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 09:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21268994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrod262/pseuds/nimrod262
Summary: A young US Marine, Jason Foley, was a great influence on the teenage Piers Nivans. In death, perhaps more so than in life. Jason’s funeral makes a sixteen year old Piers realize it’s time to make the journey from childhood to adulthood. But how exactly? And then there’s the matter of his sexuality. How does that fit in?This work is gifted to Piers of RedfieldandNivans.  Happy Birthday P. :))





	“… but when I became a man …”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedfieldandNivans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedfieldandNivans/gifts).

> This is Piers on the point of making the transition from a boy to the character we all know and love. He’s worried about growing up, his future and his sexuality. In other words, he’s a teenager. We’ve all been there, it’s not always easy, but that’s all part of the process. Some of Piers' experiences are mine, some are not.

Prolog:

January 2003: The funeral was for his friend Jason, the young Marine Lieutenant who had befriended Piers and taught him both the art, and the science, of surfing the previous summer whilst convalescing. Who had been killed in action in Afghanistan that Christmas. Who had bequeathed him his blue and yellow triple-fin surfboard. Who had been Piers’ unspoken first love.

****************************

Piers’ mother, Martha, had decided she would drive him from their home in Carmel to Monterey. It would have been over an hour each way on his pedal bike. Martha was not prepared to let him undertake such a long journey on his own. She had overruled his protests under a guise of motherly fussing and over-protectiveness.

Martha’s concerns were genuine, but in truth she had not wanted to start an argument with her eldest son in his current emotional state. She had an inkling of what Jason had meant to him, call it a mother’s intuition, and she knew Piers might suddenly find himself overwhelmed by events during and after the service. He wasn’t at all like his father, who kept his own feelings tightly under control. Piers took after her, and she thanked God every day that he did. She knew how much he’d cried upon receiving Jason’s posthumous letter. And she also knew it was better for him to give vent to his grief, lest he became sullen and bitter.

”… No Piers, you are not going on your own. It’s out of the question and that’s an end to it. It’s much too far to bike from here in your best suit. And there’s that surfboard to bring back.“

"But Mom, I wanted to do it on my own, for Jason’s sake.”

"I know you did dear, but it’s only the second funeral you’ve ever attended. Unexpected emotions can come into play on these occasions. You’ve got to be careful, sensible. You’re still only sixteen remember?”

“But …” Piers pouted.

“I’m sorry, you just have to wait for some things. Like I had to at your age.”

“You’ve always been sensible!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere son, but I’ll accept that as a compliment. Heh, heh! Now, let’s get you organized, Ok?” Piers nodded. She knew he liked organized, he was like her in so many ways.

“Dark suit?”

“Clean and pressed.”

“Handkerchief?”

“Ditto.”

“Shoes?”

“Black, polished.”

“Shirt?”

“White, long sleeve, collar starched.”

“Now, you’ll need a black tie, you don’t have one.”

“Way ahead of you Mom, I’ve borrowed one of Pa’s.”

“Good. Black socks too mind, not white! Socks should match your trousers, not your sneakers! I’ve spoken to Mr Foley, we’ll join the other mourners at the City Cemetery in Monterey before the service.”

“El Encinal?”

“Yes, on Fremont, near the Naval School. Right then, we’ll leave at eleven sharp. The station wagon could do with a wash beforehand. This is a funeral we’re going to, and we’ll do things properly, the Nivans way.”

“I’m right on it Mom!”

****************************

It was the sermon at the funeral service that started it. That really set the wheels in motion inside Piers’ head.

At one point, the Preacher had quoted from the first book of Corinthians, Chapter 13, and one verse in particular had stood out for Piers. It went …

_‘When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.’_

The preacher closed the Bible wearily, too many young men had come back KIA lately. He began his familiar homily.

“Jason Foley grew up in this community, boy and man. Now his mortal remains are returned to us …”

Jason’s death had focused Piers’ mind on his own future. His pre-ordained career in the US Army. He would be the fourth generation first-born Nivans to go into the Army. Following in the footsteps of his father, his father’s father before him, and then his father. He didn’t mind, he wanted to do it, wanted to honor the family name and its tradition. But he now realized that he wasn’t as prepared as he’d thought. It was time he grew up. And so, whilst listening to the homily, he decided it was time he too gave up childish things … and became a man.

After the service there were refreshments for a limited number of people at Jason’s parent’s home. Marine Corps buddies from his rifle platoon, who’d acted as pallbearers, a few close relatives, and Piers, together with his mother. Piers didn’t know Jason’s parents very well, but they made him feel welcome because Jason had wanted him there. Whilst his mother chatted to the family, Piers listened in awe to the banter of the Marines. After the first beers, they had unbuttoned the tight collars of their dress uniforms. With each subsequent beer they got a little louder. But their laughter was hollow, brittle. Because they knew they were the lucky ones. They were still alive.

And Piers saw this too, and suddenly understood. He thought they were so handsome, and so young. Trying to be carefree, even though they walked in the shadow of death. And the preacher’s words of the service continued to echo in his mind. _’… but when I became a man, I put away childish things … Jason Foley grew up in this community, boy and man.’_ These were men, so their behavior was obviously not childish, so what was it? Camaraderie, esprit-de-corps? Watching them, Piers knew that he had to make the transition from child to man very soon. But how?

One of the Marines was a young Sergeant from Texas. Dean Ryder had a bull-neck, and the shortest haircut Piers had ever seen. Already the Texan had three rows of campaign medals across his broad chest. He looked at Piers watching them and winked.

“Howdy, you must be Piers.” a hand, big as a ham, stuck out in greeting.

“Y,yes Sir!”

“Ha, ha! I wish. Jay told me all about you. How you helped him recover from his injuries last summer.”

“Oh, I didn’t do anything.” Piers blushed.

“That’s not what he said. Sometimes help can be up here …” Dean tapped his head. “… or here …” he put a hand over his heart. “… not just something physical.”

“I guess.”

“Damn right! I’ve got something for you Piers, couple of things actually. Jay asked me to deliver them personally, if ever … well, you know.”

“He didn’t say anything in his letter. Only about his surfboard.”

“I can’t explain it Piers, he was quiet that last week, like he knew something was gonna’ happen, you understand? Jeez, I miss that sonofabitch!”

“I’m sorry. I, I miss him too.”

“Shit!” Dean wiped away a tear. Then he looked across to one of his buddies. “Hey, Beau! Car keys! He caught them deftly as they sailed through the air, then stood up. "Come on, they’re in the truck.”

As they walked outside, Piers turned to the burly Sergeant. “Er, what actually happened to Jason? No one will tell me. Was he sniping?”

“No, we’d suddenly been asked to help out a Grunt foot patrol, in Helmand Province, last minute clusterfuck, like always. It was a roadside IED, remotely operated. Fucking cowards! It was quick Piers, he wouldn’t have felt a thing.” Piers nodded silently; fighting the image that was forming in his mind, daring him to cry. He gritted his teeth.

Dean saw it all and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s Ok Buddy.” He got out a small box. “It’s Jay’s Corps ring, he wanted you to have it if anything happened. Told me himself. Here, real gold, and that’s ruby. It’s a beaut!”

Piers held the ring in trembling hands. The last time he’d seen it was when he’d said goodbye to his friend.

“Oh, it’s lovely, I never thought … Er, is there a certain finger I should wear it on?” He wanted to wear it properly, with pride.

“Nah, not really, but not your trigger finger. El Tee said you were a leftie, so whatever suits. And then there’s this …” Dean fished out a larger package. “… here, open it. Jay said it might come in handy if you were gonna’ become a sniper.”

Piers opened the brown paper wrapping. Inside was a large, rectangular, loose-weaved olive green scarf, neatly folded.

“It’s called a shemagh. No sniper should be without one. Jay always used to say it was his talisman. Funny, he wasn’t wearing it that last day, we left in such a rush … Oh shit!” Dean wiped away another tear.

“Thank you so much, it’s beautiful.”

“Just doin’ my duty Piers, to Jay.”

“Sir, can I ask you something? It’s kinda’ personal. I mean you don’t have to answer.”

“Shoot Buddy.”

“It’s something he said in his last letter. It’s important to me. Listen, I’ll read it.”

Piers took the treasured letter from his inside pocket and read the last paragraph.

_“Just one last piece of advice Buddy. It’s not something we ever talked about; you know we Marines have an image to maintain, the strong silent type, heh, heh. But you, you’re a thinker and a bit of a loner…the sensitive type……you know what I’m saying, right? It’s gonna’ be hard for you in the army at times. They prefer team players. The military’s got something called DADT, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Read up on it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you are or you’re not, just be prepared OK Buddy? Stay true to yourself; and be like the sea, learn to hide what’s on the inside. _

_Hang ten Piers, always be the best.”_

Piers looked up at the big Sergeant. “I wonder. Was … was Jay, Jason … was he … ?” his voice failed him.

“Damn Piers! Truly? I don’t know. You don’t ask and you don’t tell. I’ve seen Jay dance with the Colonel’s wife and play football with the guys. He was a consummate professional. I never saw him put a foot wrong. If, and I’m only saying if mind, he hid it well. He was a sniper, you know that. All of us here today are. Hiding just becomes second nature I guess.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any offense.”

“None taken Buddy. Hell, whatever the truth, you could do no better than to model yourself on Jay.”

“That’s what I want to do. I’m just trying to sort things out, in my own mind. Jason, me, growing up … that. It’s hard, you know?”

You’re at that transitory phase huh? Life’s difficult sometimes. You just gotta’ rise up and meet the challenge.“

"Adapt and overcome, that’s what Pa’s always telling us.”

“He sure got that right. You still shooting by the way? Jay told me all about you taking him on at the local range.”

“Yes, every week.”

“He said you had the surest eye and smoothest trigger finger of any shooter he’d ever met. And he said you insisted you would join the Army! Ha! You wanna’ change your mind? We’re one good man down in the Corps today. I could help smooth your way, for Jay’s sake.”

“Thanks, but no. It has to be the Army. It’s … it’s a family thing. I’ll be the fourth generation Nivans to serve. My Pa’s just been made a Major, in the infantry.”

“Ok, respect Piers. But if you ever change your mind, you come find me.”

“Thanks.” Piers shook his hand.

“No problemo. Now Buddy, all this jawin’ has left me thirsty! Let’s get back inside.” Dean put a large friendly arm around Piers’ shoulders. “You drink?”

“No, er, not yet. Pa kinda’ disapproves.”

“Army huh? Weird!”

****************************

His mother looked over to him and smiled when he returned, but behind her bright hazel eyes there was sadness. Within two years her eldest son would be in the army. Would she have to attend his funeral one day? She blinked away a tear. “Piers, perhaps it’s time to be going. Have you collected your board yet?”

“No Mom, I’ll do it right now.” He didn’t tell her about the ring and the shemagh. He wanted to enjoy the guilty pleasure of keeping them secret a while longer.

Mr Foley directed him to the garage. Piers entered it silently, reverentially, like it was a church. He hadn’t been there since the end of summer. The first thing he saw was the beautiful banana-yellow El Camino, now covered in a fine layer of dust. Beyond it, on the far wall, hung Jason’s blue and yellow wetsuits, and below them, the treasured triple-skeg. Piers ran his hand lovingly over the pick-up’s hood … One day, one day, he promised himself. He opened the driver’s door, and sat behind the wheel, running his hands around the rim. The memories came flooding back. Jason had let him drive it once. On a deserted beach, just after sunrise. “Don’t gun the throttle! That’s it, you gotta’ finesse him Piers.” Him? That’s what Jason had said, Piers could still hear his voice so clearly. And in his posthumous letter, “Stay true to yourself; be like the sea, learn to hide what’s inside.”

The realization slowly dawned on Piers, did that mean Jason was? And if so, he’d hidden the fact remarkably well, from his friends, from the military. And if Jason could do it, so could he, surely? Perhaps Jason had left other clues? Piers racked his brains, trying to recall the details of each and every conversation. And as the memories came flooding back, so did the tears. He could hear Jason calling him now. “Piers … PIERS!” There was a rap at the car window, it was his mother.

****************************

They had only made brittle, stilted conversation on their way to the funeral, and had returned in silence. She’d rested a hand on his knee when she could, and he’d smiled through red-rimmed hazel eyes, whose colors were just like hers. When they got home, he’d hung the board up in the back of their garage, reverently running his fingers over it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever use it. This was Jason’s board, his feet had been the last to stand on this old wax. If he cleaned it, he might lose that memory, that tangible connection to his friend, and that would be unthinkable at the moment.

“Do you want to be alone for a while dear?” she’d asked.

“Please Mom.”

Martha knew what was going through his mind. She was his mother. “Piers, will you take my advice? Don’t turn it into a shrine. Use it. That’s what Jason would have wanted.”

“Yes, but …”

“You’ll honor him all the better if you do. You’ve got life Piers. Let him share that through your memories. That’s the best way to remember someone, not with a relic, but with a life, enriched and strengthened by the experience of knowing, not wishing. Do you understand me?”

“Yes … Oh, Mom!” and she held him tight as his tears flowed for one last time.

“Let it out now baby, and then move on.”

****************************

Back in his room, Piers lay the precious ring and shemagh on his desk. Then he re-read Jason’s letter, although he already knew it by heart. When he’d finished he folded it tenderly and put it back in its envelope, placing that against the photo of him and Jason. Perhaps he could put the shemagh around them, with the ring in front. He tried it out, carefully re-arranging the shemagh until its folds framed the picture. He wasn’t worried about his father seeing it. Scott Nivans had never been in his son’s bedroom. You were always summoned to him, in his study.

“Oh Jason! I wish you were here.” he touched the picture with trembling fingers. Then he remembered his mother’s words in the garage. 'Don’t turn it into a shrine.’ He knew she was right. A child would do it, but a man wouldn’t. With a sigh he put the letter, the ring and the scarf away, into his drawer of private treasures. But not the picture. He needed that. Putting it away would be like shutting Jason out of his life somehow. And that he would never do. His mother’s gentle knocking at the door shook him from his reverie.

Martha had always been his guide through life, not his father. It was her home, a stable environment for her children. Scott took little interest in his children’s day to day upbringing. He had decreed what the future would be. It wasn’t down to him to worry about the details. Piers knew he was destined for the Army. He also knew he was gay and so destined for trouble unless he did something about it. Not to change, but to keep it hidden. That too, would be part of his growing up, of his putting away of childish things, of becoming a man. His father would never understand, but Piers knew he could count on his mother for advice.

“Come in Mom. I’m just sitting here, thinking.”

“Just as I thought, I called you over five minutes ago. Here, I’ve brought you some milk and a sandwich. It’s not like you to miss out on a snack, heh, heh! So dear, what have you been thinking about? You wanna’ share with your sensible old Mum?”

“I’ve been thinking about Jason, about growing up. The sermon too, about putting away childish things. Watching those Marines brought it all home to me.”

“Those Marines! Boys in men’s bodies, boys made to grow up too fast!”

“I’m only two years from Army myself. It’s not long. I need to start preparing.”

“Great Grandfather Charles was only your age when he joined, possibly younger.

"Times were different back then I guess.”

“Were they? Seems to me the Nivanses have always been going off to war.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m a mother Piers, what do you think? What does Jason’s mother think after today?”

“Oh! Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, for Margaret Foley, for Jason, for you.” Martha sighed. “You liked him a lot didn’t you?”

“He was really cool, sorta’ self-sufficient. Like he’d got everything worked out.”

“I think you mean self-contained. Did … did you love him?”

“Mom! He was a guy!” Piers blushed.

“Alright then, let me put it another way dear, did you admire him?”

“Um, yeah, he was really grown up, he was together, you know what I mean?”

“Yes Piers, I do. I met someone I thought was like that once.”

“Pa?”

“Who else?”

“I’ve decided, I want to be like Jason now, like those Marines. I don’t want to be a kid anymore.”

“I see.”

“There’s a poem we were read once, at school, about doing lots of things to become a man, if this and if that. Have you heard of it?”

“I think you mean If, by Rudyard Kipling. I believe we have a copy somewhere. Would you like me to find it for you?”

“Please Mom. I think it might be just what I’m looking for.”

“Right. Finish your snack first, then get that suit hung up. And return Poppa’s tie to its rightful place whilst I go look for that poem …”

****************************

“Here it is Son. Will you read it to me?” Piers had a pleasant reading voice, with a good sense of rhythm and emphasis. Martha loved listening to him recite things.

“If, by Rudyard Kipling.” he began confidently.

_“If you can keep your head when all about you_  
_are losing theirs, and blaming it on you._  
_If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,_  
_but make allowance for their doubting too._  
_If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,_  
_or being lied about, don’t deal in lies._  
_Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,  
_ _and yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise._

_If you can dream-and not make dreams your master._  
_If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim._  
_If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster._  
_And treat those two impostors just the same._  
_If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken,_  
_twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools._  
_Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,  
_ _and stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools._

_If you can make one heap of all your winnings,_  
_and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss._  
_And lose, and start again at your beginnings,_  
_and never breathe a word about your loss._  
_If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew,_  
_to serve your turn long after they are gone._  
_And so hold on when there is nothing in you,  
_ _except the Will which says to them, ‘Hold on!’_

_If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue._  
_Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch._  
_If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you._  
_If all men count with you, but none too much._  
_If you can fill the unforgiving minute_  
_with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run._  
_Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,  
_ _and-which is more-you’ll be a Man, my son!”_

He almost stumbled over the last line, his emotions had nearly caught the better of him.

“Is it a good poem?” he asked his mother when he’d finished.

“That was beautifully read Piers. But is it a beautiful poem? Well, is scans nicely, but it’s a tad overlong in my view. It’s really a list, though cleverly versed.”

“No , I mean is it good advice?”

“Yes, it’s of its time, stoic.”

“Stoic?”

“Doing the right thing despite circumstances. A stoic is person who can endure pain or hardship without showing their feelings or complaining, staying composed under stress, not despairing when defeated.”

“Like a gallant Captain, going down with his ship?”

“That’s a bit melodramatic, but yes. It’s about taking responsibility for all your actions, good and bad, Not for personal gain, but because it’s the decent, right and proper thing to do. But don’t forget the other human virtues, like generosity, humility or integrity, for example. Or you’ll become like your father. Always temper the cold logic with the warmth of human kindness.”

“Like Jesus teaches?”

“Yes, or any of the great religious teachers, they’re not exclusive you know. Stoicism was seen as an admirable quality in Kipling’s time. He wrote it around 1895 if I remember correctly.” Martha sighed. “It doesn’t seem to be so popular nowadays, more’s the pity.”

“Over a hundred years ago? Wow! That’s about the same time Great Grandpa Charles joined the Army.”

“Give or take.”

“Was he a stoic do you think?”

“I doubt it. He probably just thought being a soldier was exciting and not much else.”

“I need a guide Mom, a compass, or a creed.”

“Well normally a boy’s father would provide that.”

“Yeah, normally. But I’ve got you, that’s way better.”

“Heh, heh! More flattery! But it’s best to find it from within yourself son. This poem could be as good a means as any. A blueprint for self-development.”

“I need to analyze it. Sort out the correct meanings of each line. Will you help me? Some of the words are a bit out of date.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean …”

Martha smiled. “Just pulling your leg. Off course I will dear.”

“I might rewrite it, but if you say it’s Ok, that’s all I really need to know for now. Thanks.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Um, Mom, one last question. Have you read Jason’s last letter to me?”

“No, I haven’t. It was written to you, for you. And it was delivered to you, personally, by the Foley’s lawyer. Why? Do you want me to read it?”

“Oh, no! No, I just wondered, that was all.”

“Piers, contrary to current popular opinion, I do not make a habit of going through my children’s things. Though with Adam I do make some frequent exceptions.”

“Huh?”

“Well, take you for example, it’s shooting, surfing, cars. In that order. For Adam it’s girls, girls and more girls. Good heavens, he’s only twelve! I’ve no idea where he gets it from, yet! But I’ll find out, you mark my words. And sweet, trusting Tim just tags along. He’s so gullible. I really need to split them up.”

“Tim could share my room?”

“That’s very noble of you Piers, but you need your privacy too, especially now you’re, ahem, maturing.” Martha winked.

“Mom! Really!” Piers blushed. How did she know these things? He’d been so careful. Perhaps it was the smell? But then he’d left the window open.

“It’s only natural Piers, well at your age. I think Adam’s going to start early, but Tim’s still far too young! Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

“Perhaps I should speak to them?”

“You can speak to Tim, he idolizes you.”

“He does?”

“He knows how you protect him from Poppa’s blackest moods. So do I.”

“Mom, is it … ” Piers hesitated, “… is it difficult with Pa? For you I mean?” if he paused it was because it was the most adult thing he’d ever asked his mother.

“Oh Piers, bless you! No, it’s not difficult. Though it’s not always easy either, heh, heh! I can see through the bull and the bluster, and he knows that. I’m the one person he lets in. Not that he has a choice! He’s a good man deep down. He cares for all of you. But he’s taught himself not to show it. He thinks emotions are a sign of weakness. Don’t be like that Piers. Your emotions can also give you strength. Always listen to your heart as well as your head. Promise me?”

“Yes, I promise. I guess growing up is harder than I thought.”

“You’re thinking about it, that’s the first step. And talking to your baby brother, that’s another. And he’ll listen. Though take my advice and keep it general, nothing too graphic. But you leave Adam to me. That one needs a mother’s touch. The firm, no nonsense one!”

“Ouch! He’s lost already then.”

“Heh, heh! Better me than your father.”

“Hmm, I should be more of a role model to them, like Jason’s been for me.”

“Perhaps this new, focused you, will be dear. Don’t leave it too long though. I sure could do with the help right now.”

“I’ll try it then, give it my best shot.”

“Then you will succeed.

"Because I’m a Nivans?”

“Because you’re my son.”

**Author's Note:**

> Martha and Scott Nivans are the original creations of RedfieldandNivans. Their characterisation here is my own. Thanks guys!
> 
> Adam and Tim Nivans are the original creations of Theosymphany, again, their characterisations here are mine. Thanks Theo!


End file.
